Okay, so I have a birthday story.
Best guy friend, Andy, wanted to meet Julia and me at Hooters to buy us dinner for my birthday. So we decided to meet at 3:00 (late lunch/early dinner).
I got almost there and I ran. out. of. gas.
I am a moron.
I had forgotten that my car dinged at me on the way home from KY on the previous night. You get one warning with my car; after that you have to actually *look* at the gas gauge.
So I had to call him on his cell and ask him to come get me to take me to a gas station. He was very gracious about it; if it had been him calling me, I would have LMAO.
So, he pulls into the parking lot where I had coasted in, and I get out, and as I'm walking to his car, I slide on a big sheet of invisible ice and bust my right knee into oblivion.
I had not been drinking at this point.
He still didn't laugh at me*. He is truly a great guy. Maybe a saint. I would have been howling.
So I hobble into his car, we go get the gas, and on the way back to my car, we see a black hearse pass us in the oncoming traffic.
He looks at me and says, "This is not a good sign. Oh, look, locusts."
Happy birthday to me.
*Of course, Julia was cracking up at this point. She is, after all, my offspring.
Addendum: I ordered a grilled chicken breast spun in 911 sauce. The fact that I did not get the breaded and fried chicken wings is huge for me.